


severed dreams

by canniballistics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst kinds of nightmares are the ones that don't start off like nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	severed dreams

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was "severed dreams".

It's not the way most people wake up from a nightmare, with pulse racing and sweat pouring; instead, he comes out of it slowly, peacefully, as if it's morning and he's back in his bed in Brooklyn. As if a war isn't going on and he's not miles away from home. But Steve can hear snoring further down in the barracks, and the scratch of the blanket against his bare arms serves as another reminder of just where he is: Camp Lehigh, training for the army's Strategic Science Reserve. The war is in full force, and he doesn't know when he's going home.

(That part doesn't matter so much, though; it's not like there's anyone waiting for him.)

He pushes the blanket away before it irritates his skin too much and develops into a full-blown rash. Colonel Phillips already doesn't think much of him; it's more than obvious every time the man even vaguely looks his way. Best not to provide more reason to hate him by earning a trip to the medic.

Steve knows full well that it's against the rules to be out after lights out, but he grabs his boots anyway, laces them quickly and throws on a jacket before creeping out of the barracks. The night is cold, bracing, helps him to clear his mind when he leans against the wall and pulls the jacket tight around himself. The dream comes back to him in quiet pieces, and he can't help wondering if he'd prefer it to have been a typical nightmare.

He'd been back in Brooklyn, sitting at a dinner table. It was nicer than the one in his apartment, bigger too, and covered with more food than had ever graced his tabletop at one time in the span of his whole life. There'd been people at the table with him, too: his ma, Bucky, and a man whose face he couldn't remember. Somehow, he understood that the man was his pop, and even with his features fading in and out, he'd been glad to see him. It went the same way most dreams did as they all sat, ate, and talked, with the food never quite diminishing and their appetites never exactly sated. It'd been a good dream, until it wasn't.

It started with his dad. He stood in the middle of the conversation, turned and walked out the door without another word. No one else seemed to notice as his mom and Bucky kept chatting, and Steve was immobile, couldn't get up to go after him. A little while later, his ma stood next, coughing politely into her napkin and bidding them goodbye before leaving through the same door. This time, Bucky acknowledged her parting, and Steve jerked futilely against his seat in an effort to stop her. When it was just the two of them, Steve looked at Bucky, pleaded with him not to leave too.

"What're you talking about?" Bucky grinned, leaned over to muss his hair. "Who's gonna keep you outta trouble if I'm not here?"

The words were more than a comfort to hear, and slowly, Steve began to relax. But no sooner had he begun to believe that everything would be alright when he blinked, and Bucky was standing, clad in his uniform. He gave him a reluctant grin, saluting smartly before speaking again. "Sorry, Steve. I gotta go. Don't do anything stupid until I get back, okay?"

"Bucky!"

Steve jumped to his feet but couldn't move from the spot as he watched his friend walk through the door. As soon as it clicked shut behind him, he was free to move. He ran after him, slammed the door open—

—and woke up silently, eyes blinking open and staring at the ceiling. And it'd led him here. Steve runs a hand through his hair, looks up toward the stars and tries not to think about what the dream meant.

"Steven? Are you all right?"

He looks up, sees Dr. Erskine a few feet away. There's a lopsided (if a little empty) grin as he nods. "Yeah. Just- needed some air."

Dr. Erskine nods back, offering him an understanding smile. "This is a feeling I know well. I would ask that you not tell the Colonel, but I do some of my best thinking on these night walks. I do not think he would be too thrilled to know we are breaking his rules."

Steve just laughs quietly, shakes his head. "Your secret's safe with me, Doc."

There's a smile in return, and Dr. Erskine pauses as he turns to leave, looking at him over his shoulder. "I want you to know that I am rooting for you, Steven. The other men will try to make this difficult for you, but I have faith that you will triumph over all of them."

He shuffles away then, and it takes Steve a second to recover from the surprise. "Thank you, Dr. Erskine. For everything."

His voice is quiet when he calls out, trying not to wake anyone, and the only response he gets is a brisk wave before Dr. Erskine is gone around a corner. But somehow, he feels a little better, and Steve lets himself shiver in the cold for another couple of minutes before heading back into the barracks. No one seems to have woken and noticed his absence, so he tucks his boots at the foot of his cot again, hangs his jacket up and lays back down. It's almost easy to fall back asleep, can feel himself tottering on the verge of it, but for one thing that keeps him from falling: the fervent hope that he doesn't see Dr. Erskine at the table next.


End file.
